


A Borrowed Heart

by DontForgetToPanic



Series: Favorites [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontForgetToPanic/pseuds/DontForgetToPanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Death borrows a body and the name Harry when he decides to take a break over the holidays.  Loosely based off the movie Meet Joe Black, and where Liam is Harry's human guide, Louis is the roommate that Death kind of falls in love with, Zayn takes pictures of little kids with Santa Claus for a living, Niall is poetic when he’s drunk, and everyone gets paid to wear green tights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Borrowed Heart

The hum of the coffee-maker is quite soothing, Louis has come to find.

The problem with living in one of the busiest cities in the world is that it’s loud (totally and completely loud) and no matter what Liam may say Louis does like the occasional quiet moment, so of course the day he found a café that turns out to be actually quiet enough that he can hear the soft hum of the coffee machine and the murmur of the radiator he decided this would be his place.

He comes here every Sunday now, for three years this coming spring.

The café, of course, is hidden in plain sight, situated between two rival auto-repair shops and across the street from an empty music store. Louis found it by accident on his way to his and Liam’s flat from work one night, the other lads deciding to get a drink (or two, or seven) to celebrate it being a Friday, but for all of Louis’s outrageous antics and insufferable nonsense he too has a right to have bad days, days when he can be moody for no reason and angry because he can. So on this particular Friday, all those years ago, he was wandering home with his heart as despondent as the black-painted sky.

Take this moment to remember that Louis has no sense of direction.

So he’s lost, a wanderer with no inkling as to where to go from here, and it’s only through sheer fatigue that he ducks into the desolate diner (and in turn falling in love at first sight; love with the curling wall-paper and the tattered booths, with the owner towering behind the counter with her beehive hair. Everything about this place screamed unlikely home, and that’s what Louis has always looked for, right? Home).

(And it can be argued that on this day he sealed his Fate, the second he stepped foot in this quiet run-down place. Others will argue that his Fate was set when he was young and Death spared him from following him Beyond, even when Louis’s sisters and mother were taken.)

(A select few would say his Fate was set the second he was born, Death seeing him (for he always sees—everything he sees) and realizing—although not yet consciously—that things would soon change.)  
This Sunday morning is like every other morning, in respect. Louis arriving at the diner at seven on the dot (not one for schedules, but coming here is different, warranted) and takes his usual place at the counter next to the dirtied window, decades of muck and dust and disgusting residue covering it (but it’s perfect; Louis knows, it perfect just like the place his mother used to take him when he was little, every Sunday with his sisters in tow). The owner doesn’t even need to ask anymore, only setting a coffee mug in front of him and a plate of eggs and toast, and everything would be perfect for that while.

The only difference this day is that the original Harry Styles walked in.

The first thing Louis notices is that he looks much too young to be in a business suit, his face still loosely hanging onto his youth and to be frank he would look more at home in a school uniform than professional attire. That doesn’t take away from the fact that this boy is attractive though, not in the least. It can even be argued that this newcomer’s youth adds to his beauty, his cheeks not yet marred by lines of worry and his eyes not yet weighted down by pain, sparkling with a light of innocence that could only be found in those who have yet to meet Death, only brushing past Him at the most. Louis lets his eyes rest on the boy as he walks into the diner, watching him as he sits on a stool two seats away from Louis. He can’t help but stare as the boy (curly hair, dark, obviously brushed and pushed back in a failed attempt at neatness) as he orders his food, smiling at the owner, showing off his dimples (and those lips…Louis can’t help but hold his breath).

“Harry Styles.”

Louis blinks and jerks back in his seat a bit, surprised to see the face so close to his own (realizing belatedly that he had been so caught up in staring at the boy’s lips that Louis didn’t see that the boy had moved). Harry grins a bit, holding his left hand out as he waits for Louis to shake, to introduce himself.

“Louis,” he answers, quirking his lips into something resembling a smile as he tries to recover, “Louis Tomlinson.” Harry smiles a bit wider and Louis can only think about the way Harry’s hands are so firm, his skin so soft where they touch and both boys seem reluctant to let go.

“You were staring at me.” Harry points out once they have their hands to themselves, and really Louis isn’t one to blush (no matter what Liam might say) but being caught checking out a perfect stranger is rather blush-worthy, Louis finds.

“Sorry, I tend to space out at the most inopportune times…”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry interrupts, sitting back and looking Louis up and down just as Louis had been doing moments before, a smile playing on his lips (and some would say Harry looks cocky, but Louis doesn’t see that, he’s much too sincere to be cocky. Louis would say Harry looks genuine, so assured with everything he does even when he has nothing to prove).

“Oh, well,”

“Rather flattering really, usually when people check me out they try to hide their interest, it’s quite refreshing that I’ve met someone who doesn’t hide the fact that they know I’m fit.” Harry continues and okay, Louis lied, Harry might be a bit cocky.

“Nice to see how modest you are, Harry.” Louis says and Harry holds his hands up, as if to say ‘what’re you going to do?’

“So Louis,” Harry continues a moment later, snatching a piece of toast off of Louis’s plate as if they’re old friends instead of having just met, “why are you sitting alone?”

Louis raises his eyebrows, looking Harry up and down as he tries to think of something to say that doesn’t sound like a lie.

“Oh, you know, I’m single so I like to come here occasionally and wallow in my own self-pity,” Louis decides to say, shrugging and taking a little sip of his coffee. Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and he lets out a bark of laughter, one hand shooting up to his mouth as if he’s surprised he even laughed at all.

Once Harry calms down he drops his hands back to his lap, “We should start a club then.”

Louis smiles, “we could call ourselves the Breakfast Club.” Harry cackles again, giggling into his arm, and when the owner drops off Harry’s plate of food she just furrows her eyebrows and backs away.

“That’s not that funny,” Harry says, shaking his head but still giggling, “it’s rather lame actually.”

“But aren’t the dumb jokes the best kind?” Louis counters, stealing one of Harry’s slices of toast to even the score. Harry shrugs his shoulders in agreement and digs into his eggs, leaving Louis to silently chew and watch Harry with a calculating eye.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Louis says a moment later, “but did you just come from a funeral?” Harry chokes on his bite of egg and it takes a second before he can speak.

“No, I didn’t...why? Do I look despondent or something?” Louis shakes his head and tries not to laugh (because really, despondent? He couldn’t just say sad or something like a normal person?).

“No, it’s just that you look completely out of place in a suit. I was also going to ask if you just skipped out of your wedding or something, but I wanted to try the funeral approach first.” Louis says and Harry raises one eyebrow, biting his lower lip as he wonders if Louis is real or pretend.

“No, it’s not that. I work politics and we've got a terribly strict dress code. Although Fridays we are allowed to wear sweater-vests, so I guess it isn’t all bad.” Harry answers, winking at the last bit so Louis knows he’s being ironic.

“Sounds fun,” Louis answers, although he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s lying (because he might not know what he wants to do with his life yet, but he certainly knows that he doesn’t want to do something that involves having to wear suits every day), “but wait, you have to work on Sundays?”

Harry nods, “yeah, the post gets a day off but I don’t; canvassing neighborhoods and calling families on their supper hour is much too important. I get a briefcase, so that right there should prove how important I am.” Harry rolls his eyes and Louis laughs at the obvious sarcasm dripping from Harry’s voice.

“Then if you don’t like it, then why do you still do it?” Louis asks, taking another sip of his coffee as Harry folds back into his seat. 

“Well, because my dad likes the idea I guess, and I don’t know, don’t really have anything else lined up do I? It doesn’t matter anyway. You probably do something more exciting, don’t you?”

Louis can tell Harry’s trying to change the subject, but he bites anyway, swirling the last few sips of his coffee around before downing it in one drink. 

“Not really, I work in a mall. Although this week starts the holiday season, so you know what that means right?” Louis waits another moment before answering himself, watching Harry shovel more eggs into his mouth, “Santa’s coming to town, meaning I get to dress up in fuzzy green tights and a dress. They call it a tunic but we all know that’s a lie.” Harry starts another laughing fit, coughing as he tries to keep his food in his mouth and Louis can’t help but smile back, loving the way Harry’s eyes go wide like he surprises himself. 

Once Harry finally calms down enough he opens his mouth to reply, but something catches his eye and he’s looking at the clock.

“Oh, fuck me, I’m late.” Harry jumps up, dropping some cash next to his half-finished plate. He turns to Louis and a pang of regret forms in his chest--he wishes he could stay a bit longer, “I’m sorry Louis, I’ve got to go, it was really nice chatting with you though.” Louis cocks his head to the side, looking a bit puzzled, but Harry just gives him one more smile before leaving, the door swinging behind him with an air of finality. Louis watches the door for a moment before leaving himself, dropping a few pounds before going outside, stopping in the middle of the rush of people using the sidewalk. 

He stands there for a bit longer, glancing both ways down the sidewalk in hopes of seeing the stranger for another fleeting moment (just the tip of his curls, or the palm of his hand, or the pink of his lips...just a moment more) but after a minute he gives up, turning to his left before continuing home.

If he had gone right he would have seen Harry jogging through the crowd, stepping off the sidewalk to cross the street a moment too early. Louis would have seen Harry stumble a bit, not aware of his surroundings. 

If Louis had gone right, he would have seen a taxicab run a red light, barrel through the intersection a bit too fast and hit Harry at full force, sending him flying through the air in a graceful arch until his head hits the pavement, his skull cracked and the cut on the back of his head bleeding out, the red staining the ground.

 

* * *

 

Liam doesn’t really remember exactly when Louis moved in, although he guesses it was a few months after they first met. It was gradual at first, a few spare outfits in the drawers and an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, but before he knew it the spare room was filled with Louis’s many trinkets, his mass collection of Christmas ornaments and snow globes littered about, one wall covered in black and white polaroids of so many people, most of which Liam has never met (and as the years progressed a few pictures of Liam even made it up, and some of Niall and Zayn as well).

Sometimes Liam wonders why he allowed it, seeing how Louis almost never pays rent and he leaves his clothes everywhere and whenever he invites a hook-up over (although to be fair, it’s not very often) they always end up getting groovy in the living room on Liam’s sofa even when there’s a perfectly good bed in the guest room and Louis knows perfectly well there is because he’s been living in it god damn it!

Anyway…

So it’s days like today (Liam’s one day, one day off of work) that he wonders why he hasn’t kicked Louis out a long time ago, because for the love of everything holy he did not sign up for spending his Sundays picking a used condom out from the side of the couch.

“You know what; Louis’s getting my couch dry-cleaned now. That’s it, when he gets home I’m going to sternly talk to him, point out all the reasons he’s such a crap roommate, and then insist if he’s going to stay here he has to do more around the loft. There it’s decided.” Liam tells the wall, practicing his stern voice so he’s got it perfected by the time Louis gets home (and no matter what Louis may say, his stern voice is very scary, it is).

“I don’t think it’s quite normal to talk to walls, although I’m not exactly an expert on normal human behavior.” Liam blushes and looks down at his shoes, ready to say that he doesn’t usually talk to himself, but then he freezes.

Because he’s pretty sure he’s home alone at the moment.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m on holiday.” The voice continues, but Liam’s not very comforted, oddly enough. Liam is trying to decide whether he should turn around or just make a mad dash towards the front door when the intruder decides for him, moving around until he’s standing in front of Liam behind the couch.

Liam’s rather surprise at first, because the intruder isn’t the bearded, six foot tall mass murderer he was expecting, instead a boy who must not yet be twenty, curly hair framing his soft face. He’s tall, but in a lanky way, as if he’s just grown a lot in a short time, not yet used to his long limbs and only just starting to be able to control them.

In a whole this boy (because that’s what he is, he’s a boy) doesn’t look like he could hurt a fly.

“I’m sorry, but how did you get in here?” Liam asks, trying to be as calm as possible because he learned from all those suspense and action movies to not underestimate anyone, because you just need to turn your back and they stab you or run you over with a car or shave your head when you’re asleep.

The boy chuckles and the skin crawls on Liam’s back, the hair on his neck standing on end because that’s not the laugh of a boy.

“I’m Death, I think I have a few tricks in my jacket.” The boy says and Liam, having no survival instinct it seems, cocks his head to the side and has the gall to look confused.

“You mean sleeve?” Liam corrects, but the boy just frowns and furrows his eyebrows, looking absolutely adorably confused and if he wasn’t, you know, a potential mass murderer, Liam would coo over him and offer him some tea and a blanket (and maybe a hug).

“What?” The boy asks, and really Liam must not be thinking, because he answers.

“You said you have a few tricks in your jacket, but the term is ‘up your sleeve’.” Liam points out, and the other boy only looks more confused.

“That doesn’t make a lot of sense; my sleeve is rather small; I don’t think all my metaphorical tricks can fit just there. It needs a whole jacket.”

“Well, I mean,” Liam stutters, his fingers tangling with the hem of his shirt, “it doesn’t really matter, does it? If the tricks are metaphorical then can’t you just make them really small? And…wait, what do you mean you’re death?”

“Exactly that, I’m Death.” The intruder says, ignoring Liam’s first statement. It’s rather eerie, the way he says that (the way he says he’s Death, as if the D is capitalized, as if it’s a name), and if Liam didn’t already feel uncomfortable he certainly does now.

“Wait, you’re not like some psychopath who thinks it’s his job to like, kill all the first born sons with brown eyes or something, are you?” Liam asks, slowly backing up, trying his hardest not to make any sudden movements, because this man could be armed, or he could have accomplices standing right outside, ready to strike, or he could have like mind powers or something (because Liam just watched X-Men with Zayn last night, so he’s now pretty certain there really are people with kick-ass mutations just hiding…waiting until the opportune moment to strike).

“No, don’t worry. I’m not a psychopath, whatever that is. I’m just Death, but I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Right, right, because you’re on holiday.” Liam answers, and it’s meant to be sarcastic (because like he said before, he has absolutely zero survival instinct) but the other boy is nodding his head in agreement, as if Liam’s finally beginning to understand.

“Exactly, now you’re catching on! So I need a favor.” Death answers, widening his lips as if he’s trying to smile, but instead he looks as if he’s about to unhinge his jaw and swallow Liam whole.

Liam chokes on his own spit, “You need a favor? You break into my home because you need a favor?” Death nods and Liam would laugh if the stranger didn’t look so serious.

“I’m not going to help out a perfect stranger who thinks it’s okay to just waltz into my home! And just because you promise you aren’t going to kill me doesn’t mean you won’t do it! I don’t know how much of an idiot do you think I am, but I can assure you, I’m not. My roommate’s going to be home soon, and when he gets here he’ll call the police and I’ll make sure you get some psychiatric help mate, because you certainly need it.” Death doesn’t move, just cocks his head to the side and studies Liam up and down, his eyes trailing along his torso in a calculating gaze.

“I’ve met you before, we’re not strangers.” He finally says, as if that’s the important issue in Liam’s little rant.

“I’ve never met you before in my life, and I would know…you give off a rather creepy vibe.” Liam huffs out, as if he’s just talking to a rather annoying neighbor instead of some random guy who just walked into his flat and introduced himself as fucking death (sorry, Death, capitol D).

“Oh we’ve met,” Death retorts, smiling once again, his lips widening a bit too much to be completely human, “you were born into my arms, but you struggled, you weren’t ready to follow me Beyond yet. Yes, yes I remember you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I…” Liam cuts himself off and furrows his eyebrows, staring at his shoes for a moment before looking back up at the stranger, “how do you know I was born dead?”

“I just told you, I held you, I was ready to guide you Beyond. Another time, also. It was a routine surgery, was it not? I took your hand, ready to carry you forward, but you struggled again I believe. I never take someone before they’re ready.” Death says, keeping his (borrowed) face stoic as Liam shakes his head.

“You could've found that out anywhere, hacked my medical records. I don’t know what you want but please, please leave I…”

“You might be ready now.” Death interrupts, no emotion creeping onto his face.

Liam shakes his head impossibly harder, “No, no I’m not. And just because you know a few things that anyone can find out doesn’t mean I believe you, I’m not that stupid. You know…” Harry silences him again with a raise of his hand, and suddenly he’s moving forward with a grace Liam doesn’t understand, reaching out with one hand and placing it ever-so-gently on Liam’s neck. And then he gives him a taste.

Liam’s back arches and his mouth opens in a silent scream as Death lets him taste only a little bit of what Life really is, taste the sorrow and the joy and the hurt and pain and heartbreak and love and numbness and warmth, taste only a little bit of what Death feels on a daily bases, what Death feels when He leads each soul home.

Death takes his hand back.

“What—what was that? What did you d-do to me?” Liam gasps, shuffling back a bit until his legs hit the sofa and he falls onto the cushions, sitting forward as if to let the blood rush back to his head.

“That is me; you see, with Death comes Life, and that is Life. I gave you a taste of condensed Life so you will believe me. Do you believe me now?” Death asks and Liam shakes his head because no, this is obviously a dream.

“No, no I don’t believe you, I absolutely do not, because that…”

“Was what? I don’t understand, what are you confused about?” Death asks, and Liam wonders if he only has two emotions, confused and vacant.

“You could have drugged me, that’s it. That is it, you drugged me. I don’t…”

“Okay, you’re wasting my energy,” Death interrupts, shaking his head and…does he look disappointed? “so I’ll give you a choice, you either be my earthly guide for the few weeks I’m staying here or I lead you Beyond and find someone else, okay?”

No, Liam doesn’t find this okay.

“No, no that’s not okay, not okay because I’m not ready to die, I’m not going to die, I don’t want to die, I haven’t even gotten married yet. I haven’t even had a real job that wasn’t in retail, I still need to go to India, I’ve always wanted to go to India…I haven’t…”

“Oh dear, are all humans so mundane?” Death asks, looking genuinely curious, “You won’t die as long as you be my earthly guide, how many times do I have to say that?” 

“But, what’s stopping you from killing me after? What if I just lead you around and you just poof,” Liam throws his hands out to simulate an explosion, “kill me?” 

Death rolls his eyes.

“I’m not the enemy, the villain. I’m a friend, a guide in my own right. When a soul is ready, I lead them home. Now please, I’ve been waiting three millennia for a holiday, I think I earned this.”

Liam bites his fingernail, “But, what a-about...”

“Hey Li, I’m home, know you missed me--Harry?” Liam and Death both look up, and Death gasps.

Because he remembers this soul, he would always remember this soul, surrounded by rubble and debris and wreckage from a crash. Death remembers this soul as it raised its arms, its presence absolutely calm and accepting, waiting for Death to lift it up and carry them Beyond. Death remembers this soul because it was the first soul he didn’t take even though it was ready; he never takes a soul until it’s ready and he never leaves one behind once it is...except for this one...

That was the first time he felt his own emotion; emotion belonging to himself and not humanity’s.

(Terror).

“Harry, what’re you doing here? You ran off, I thought you had to go to work?” Louis continues (his name’s Louis, after these years Death still had yet to learn his name...Louis...).

“Wait,” Liam’s standing now, still shaking a bit as he looks from Death to Louis and back again, “you two know each other?”

Louis nods, his lips quirking up in a lazy smile, “Yeah, we just met this morning over breakfast. Bonded over puns, right Harry?”

Death nods, plays along. Louis smiles, Liam frowns.

“Right, Louis. We just met this morning.” Death smiles, the same wide grin as before and Liam grimaces, tries to hide his shudder but Louis can’t help but smile back and think that this isn’t the same smile as back at the diner, but he still quite likes it.

“Harry. You said his name is Harry?” Liam continues, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Harry,” Death says, rolling the name around on his tongue, tasting it, trying it on for size. He quite likes it (He quite likes the way Louis says it), “Yeah, you know my name Li, we’ve only known each other since birth.” Liam and Louis both raise their eyebrows in unison and Death (Harry) now knows what it feels like to find something humourous first hand. 

“You’ve known each other for that long? Why haven’t I met you before?” Louis asks, and Death has to hold back from saying that they have met, that He could have taken Louis forever, could have led him home like He has so many others. But then He had felt something, moments before. Something like an electric shock coursing through him, feelings absolutely alien but at the same time so familiar.

(Terror).

“We haven’t been able to talk in a while,” Death explains, gesturing at Liam with a flick of his wrist, “but now that I’ve got nowhere else to go, he’s agreed to let me stay for a while. Right Li?” Liam nods right away, biting his lower lip in an emotion He doesn’t really care about.

“Right, he’s staying here for a bit.” Liam reiterates and Louis smiles, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“Okay--wait, Harry? You don’t have anywhere to go, so does that mean you quit?” Louis smiles at Death, warm and inviting and it’s like there’s a cloud around them, just Death and Louis, and He doesn’t understand why there’s tightness in his chest...he doesn’t understand, just knows there is.

“Yeah, I quit.” Death agrees, not knowing what he’s saying other than it makes Louis look positively gleeful.

“Oh that’s wonderful, Harry. You shouldn’t have to do something you hate. I’m sure you’ll find something better soon.” Louis says, the smile on his face not hiding anything and Death wonders how that can be, how someone could just be so honest, most humans don’t do that...they’re full of emotion, but honesty isn’t usually so prominent.

“Yes, thank you...Louis.” Death answers and Louis absolutely beams, taking off his sopping jacket and hanging it on the rack.

“Cool, okay then. I’m going to go change, it started snowing on my walk back.” Louis says, walking towards the hallway to the bedrooms but stopping in the doorway, turning around as if he forgot something.

“Oh, and Harry?” Death hums to let Louis know he’s listening, “I’m really glad I get to see more of you, I was scared we wouldn’t ever see each other again.” Death nods but Louis has already disappeared to his room. 

“You two know each other?”

Death jumps, his shoulders going tense and this is odd, this emotion. He doesn’t know how to place it...is this what feeling startled feels like?  
“No, we don't,” Death lies, not wanting to explain anything to his guide just yet, “but I guess he’s met the man who I borrowed this body from.”

A look of panic grazes Liam’s features and he looks back at Death with panic in his eyes, “What do you mean borrowed, you mean you killed someone so you could use his body?”  
Death shrugs, “You don’t need to put it so brutally...”

Liam shakes his head, “It’s too early for this. I’m going to take a shower, I’ll be right back. Just...sit here. Don’t move.” He points vaguely at the sofa and disappears down the hallway, but Death doesn’t watch him go.

Harry, Death thinks, bouncing it around in his newly encased mind, listening to it’s sound and playing with it’s edges.

“Harry, I quite like that.” Harry says out loud, the edges of his lips curling upward. “Harry,” he says again, and this time he pretends Louis’s the one saying it, and it sounds all the more beautiful. 

 

* * *

 

“Sorry but...what is this?” Harry asks, eyeing the container like it might spontaneously combust.

“It’s Chinese...” Louis answers, digging through the bag to make sure Liam ordered right this time.

“Like, we’re eating Chinese people? Isn’t that a bit callous?” Harry asks. Louis pauses and whips his head around to worriedly look at Harry, but Liam’s beat him to it, slapping Death on the back of the head.

“He’s just kidding, Louis; Harry has a terrible sense of humour.” Liam tries to look relaxed but Louis finds him to just look constipated, but seeing how that’s not exactly an unusual look on him Louis just shrugs and decides he needs some wine tonight. Once Louis has disappeared into the kitchen Liam lets his smile drop, turning to look at Harry with his lips pursed.

“It’s food people in China eat, not actual people. Harry, I thought you said you want to blend in? If you don’t want people noticing you’re not exactly normal you can’t just go around asking obvious questions...are you even listening to me?” 

The answer of course, is no, Harry’s not listening. He probably tuned out before the first word was uttered, but that’s not really the point. Liam rolls his eyes but gives up, instead resigning to watching Harry sniff at his food and eye it rather suspiciously.

“We only have the crappy wine you bought last week, so I’m in a bad mood,” Louis announces, precariously balancing three paper cups under one arm and a wine bottle in the other. Harry tenses up and drops the container of chow mein (Liam, with those damn reflexes, catches it before the food spills all over his carpet...seriously, it’s like no one cares that he actually has a deposit up for this loft that he would one day like to get back).

Harry though, Harry feels the same shock as before, the same feeling start at the tips of his fingers and the base of his spine, working it’s way up his body until overcoming his senses, clouding his mind. 

This feeling though, however foreign and terrifying it may be, he doesn’t really mind it (even might like it, and maybe that’s what is scary).

(Terror). 

“Harry, are you okay? You look a bit flushed.” Louis asks, eyeing him uncertainly. 

“Yeah, he’s fine Lou,” Liam answers for him, “but Harry doesn’t drink, so we don’t need three cups.”

Louis looks abashed, “You don’t drink? I don’t know how I’d survive, to be honest. Not to be nosy or anything, but why? Recovering alcoholic? Social experiment?” Louis cocks one eyebrow and plops down on the carpet across from Harry, “You’re of age, aren’t you?”

“Yes, he’s of age!” Liam answers, throwing his hands up in the air a bit more frantic than strictly necessary.

“Oh, okay then.” Louis nods, but he doesn’t press anything further, just pouring himself and Liam a drink and then digging in, and Liam breaths a sigh of relief because this won’t be too hard, he thinks. 

“So, Harry, how long are you staying here for?” Louis asks and Liam tries not to look too interested even though he is, very much so.

“Until modern day Christmas” Harry answers (and Liam tries not to hit his head, because honestly who says modern day Christmas?)

Louis smiles and Harry can’t help but think about just how inviting that smile is, “Oh, so you’re staying for the holidays then?”

“Holidays...yes, yes I’m staying for the holidays.” Harry nods and Liam feels his shoulders drop, because that’s three weeks, he’s not too sure if he can last three weeks of this.

They eat in relative silence after that, Harry finally getting the hang of a fork and it’s not too bad, he thinks, this human food.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired, I think I’m going to go to sleep?” Liam says (although it sounds more like he’s asking) a bit later that night, after the three of them are curled up on the couch watching something or another. 

“Tired?” Harry asks, and Liam frantically waves his hands when Louis isn’t looking as if to tell Harry not to ask. 

“Okay, we can set Harry up on the couch, I can go find some sheets and pillows and things,” Louis starts, but Harry’s shaking his head.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll just share with Liam.” Louis and Liam both look at Harry a bit puzzled, but Death just shrugs, “I see humans share beds all the time, they always seem to enjoy it.” Louis furrows his eyebrows and Liam holds back from explaining that what Harry has been seeing isn’t just ‘sharing beds,’ but instead he just nods along.

“Yeah, you know, Harry and I are pals, we are. We’ll just share a bed.” Louis just stares at them a moment more before shrugging and retreating to his room, because to be honest he’s seen weirder things than this. 

 

* * *

 

“What is this?” Harry asks, holding up one of the appliances on the kitchen counter. Liam only has to glance over before he’s back to fighting with the coffee machine.

“It’s a toaster.”

Harry hums and flips it over, studying the bottom, “What does it do?”

“It toasts bread.” Liam answers, cheering after finally getting the top to close. 

“What’s bread?” Harry asks and Liam groans and throws his head back.

“It’s food, you eat it...it doesn’t matter Harry, just put it down before you break it further, Louis already mangled it last week.” 

Harry sets it back down. 

“So,” he continues a moment later, watching Liam as he putters around the room, “what’re we going to do today?”

Liam pauses and looks up, “What do you mean? I have to work, can’t you just entertain yourself or something?”

Harry smiles in a way that makes Liam’s skin crawl, “Work? That sounds fun, I want to do it.” 

“No, you don’t. And anyway we don’t have anymore open positions, so...”

“Just take me with you,” Harry interrupts, “I’ll open one up.”

“No, no!” Liam shakes his hands frantically in front of him, “You know what? I’ll talk to the manager, see if I can do anything.”

“Thanks Li! I knew you’re the best.” Harry says, but he’s already back to inspecting the kitchen, picking up every pot, pan, and appliance, asking what it is, and then setting it back down (and repeat). 

“Ready to go, Santa?” Liam groans (Harry wonders if that’s the only sound Liam can make) and pulls out the freshly brewed coffee, turning around to glare at Louis.

“No, I hate kids. Why would I want every kid in London to sit on my lap?”

“Because you get paid two pound fifty an hour more than me?” Louis suggests and well, Liam must admit that’s good reasoning. "So Harry,” Louis turns to Death (currently inspecting the oven, much to his pleasure; quite a fascinating invention), “what’re you going to do today?”

“Liam said he would talk to his manager and get me a work.”

“A job.” Liam corrects, but Louis is already bouncing up and down, clapping his hands together in glee.

“Oh this is exciting, you’ll love it. Christmas is my favorite time of year, you know. And you’ll just love Zayn and Niall, they’re really cool. Zayn’ll tell you he’s an artist but really he just takes pictures for one of those kiosk things at the mall, unless it’s Christmas, then he takes pictures of all the kids with Santa. Liam’s Santa, by the way. You can see it, can’t you...”

“Is that a fat joke?” Liam interrupts, frowning, but Louis’s smiling too hard for it not to be infectious. 

“I bet Harry would look really good in green tights.”

 

* * *

 

It turns out Harry does look good in green tights.

“Looking good Curly, I might even be jealous,.” Louis says as they exit the locker room together, both clad in green tunics and little hats and looking very much the part of Christmas elves. Harry turns to Louis and cocks his head to the side, considering.

“You shouldn’t be jealous, your symmetrical face and self-assured aura would be found attractive by anyone most definitely,” Harry says, causing Louis to bite his bottom lip so he wouldn’t crack his face from smiling too hard. 

“Well, thank you Harry.”

“Plus, every time you smile you make my stomach feel warm and it’s really nice,” Harry adds, and this time Louis laughs outright, clutching his abdomen and almost doubling over. Harry doesn’t understand what he finds so funny, but he does know he wants to make sure he makes Louis laugh like this again.

“So Harry, you need to brace yourself,” Louis tells his friend a moment later, clutching Harry’s bicep loosely as as they walk out into the jungle that is the mall, “because you’re about to meet Niall, and when one meets Niall...”

“Louis!” Harry flinches away as Louis is pushed back, and something small and green is jumping on him, “Louis, are you excited? Because I’m excited. I got here really early to get my uniform so this year I have tights that fit instead of those crappy ones that rode up my arse like last year.” Louis laughs (the ringing kind, sounding like chimes being rustled by the wind, or a group of wine glasses being tapped together in a toast) and Harry feels something in his chest, pushing at his ribs and whispering in his ear, reminding him that he only likes when Louis laughs like that when he’s the one causing it.

“Well, congratulations Nialler, I’m glad you’re happy.” Louis pats his back, trying to push the bundle of boy (two points for alliteration) off of him. Niall punches Louis a bit too hard in the arm due to his excitement and he jumps back.

“Excuse me, but is your hair naturally that colour?” Harry asks, parting his lips a bit as he stares at Niall’s head. Niall, of course only just notices Harry’s presence, and instead of looking scandalized or something he just looks amused.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s not natural. I think I’m a brunette but I can’t remember the last time it was actually brown...” Niall answers, but his voice trails off as Harry reaches up to run his hands through the blond of Niall’s hair. 

“How do you do that? Change it like that, make it so bright?” Harry’s voice is light, like he’s not really the one asking the question, and Louis finds that Harry seems so different (different than what he was back at the cafe). 

“I dyed it.” Niall laughs, giggling as Harry runs his hands through his hair even more until it’s standing on end. Louis’s about to say something (he’s not sure what yet, but it’s a rare day that Louis doesn’t comment about something) but then another boy is joining their group, eyeing Niall and the strange boy like he’s walking into something he shouldn’t.

“Your hair,” Harry says, taking his hands back from Niall and lazily pointing at Zayn’s head, “is it dead too?”

Zayn furrows his eyebrows and looks to Louis for explanation.

“Dyed,” Louis explains, giggling into his hand (all to Harry’s confusion), “he wants to know if your hair is dyed.”

“Oh,” Zayn nods, looking much too laid back that he should be, considering he’s been friends with Niall and Louis for years, “yeah, but only this front part here.” He points to the front of his forehead, tapping the blond streak in his otherwise dark hair. Harry reaches up to touch it but Zayn pushes his hand lightly back with a chuckle, telling him not to mess up his hair. Harry looks a bit disappointed, causing Louis to smile and wrap one arm around his waist. 

“So boys, now you’ve met Harry Styles. He’s an old friend of Liam’s and he’s staying with us until Christmas, and he’s one of Santa’s little helpers, like us.” Louis ruffles Harry’s hair a bit.

Niall smiles wide and pats Harry on the shoulder, “Harry Styles, sounds like a porn star name...tell me Harry, you a porn star?”

“Come on Niall,” Zayn hits him on the hip good naturedly before swinging an arm around his shoulders, “if he was a porn star you would already know who he is, you watch enough of it.” Niall shrugs like it’s an obvious truth, and Harry holds back his question (what is porn and why would he be a massive ball of heated gas?) because by the dirty smirks on each of their faces he doesn’t think the question would help him blend in.

“Okay boys, enough playing around,” Louis says, starting to walk away and gesturing for the boys behind him to keep up, “we have a horde of rambunctious children waiting for us to make their Christmas merry and gay and damn it Zayn if you make one joke about how they must just be waiting for me because I’m the gayest thing they’ll ever see I’ll slap you because we have this conversation every year mate, every year.” 

 

* * *

 

It turns out Liam’s a really good Santa.

“He says it’s because he’s spent so much time with me he’s perfected the art of pretending to listen to excited children.” Louis tells Harry when he points it out, guestering to Liam just as the little girl laughs, hopping up and down on Santa’s leg. 

“Why would anyone have to pretend to listen to you?” Harry asks, looking at Louis like he just said something completely absurd, “Everything you say is always really interesting, or extremely funny, or...”

“I can’t seem to figure you out...” Louis interrupts, looking at Harry with a considering smile. Harry isn’t sure what to say to that, so he just shrugs and goes back to trying to calm down screaming children and even more terrifying parents. 

Liam finishes talking with the little girl and helps her down off his lap, and Niall hands her a candy cane from his position to Liam’s right (Santa’s bodyguard, Louis likes to refer to him as).

“Alright, Mr.” Louis kneels down in front of the next boy in line, making it so they are eye-to-eye, “tell me, are you ready to see Santa?” 

“Yeah!” The boy cheers, jumping up and down, and Louis raises his eyebrows and screwing his face up in mock-consideration.

“Well, if you’re sure, then go right ahead,” Louis unhooks the velvet rope to let him through, “but make sure to talk real loud, right in Santa’s ear, okay? He’s a few thousand years old, his hearing’s going.” The little boy nods like he’s been given an important mission, and runs up to jump on Liam’s lap. 

Harry watches as the kid starts to scream in Liam’s ear, and Louis is leaning against Harry’s side, burying his face in Harry’s neck because it’s not that funny, he shouldn’t be laughing (but the look on Liam’s face, he’s so confused, so confused). Harry freezes, taking great consideration not to move because he has no idea what’s going on, with Louis draped over his side breathing into his neck (and Harry suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands) (not that Harry ever has any idea what to do with his hands and usually he just keeps them to his side, but now he feels like he should be doing something with them).

Harry’s still going through his inner crisis concerning his hands when Louis pulls back to go calm some mother complaining to him that ‘the line’s taking too long’ (or something like that). He feels the fluttering in his stomach start up again, the same feeling that happens whenever Louis gets too close, and he mentally wills himself to calm down.

He also takes a moment to wonder if he got the tights Niall was talking about earlier, because honestly they keep riding up, it hurts.

 

* * *

 

Two nights later Harry’s sitting up in bed with a start, his arms flailing out to his Liam over the head.

“Oww, err... sleep...”

“Liam,” Harry turns on his side and speaks in a normal tone instead of the more socially accepted whisper, already completely awake despite it being two in the morning, “Liam I need to ask you something.” 

“No, bed...night--sleep...” Liam answers, turning over so his back is to Harry. Harry pushes Liam a few more times in an attempt to get him up, shaking his shoulders as Liam whines and throws an arm back in an attempt to swat Harry away. 

“Go sleep, tell someone else...” Liam mumbles into his pillow and after a few more artfully painful shoves Harry relents, muttering a loud fine before whipping the duvet off (making sure he takes it off Liam also because, well, he deserves it) and sinking his feet into the plush carpet.

The hallway is dark, as one would suspect it to be in the early morning, and Harry has to run his hand along the wall to make sure he doesn’t run into anything. He lets his fingers trail along the bumps of the wall for a moment as he makes his way down (two doors down, the bathroom separates the bedrooms) until he stops outside, opening the door a crack to look in. 

“Louis?” Harry calls out, his voice bouncing off the walls of the room, swirling around the darkness and breaking the still silence. The figure on the bed doesn’t move, so Harry moves in and closes the door behind him, listening for the soft click. After another moment Harry calls his name out again, and this time he can see movement on the bed through the dim light streaming in through the blinds from the streetlights below. The figure on the bed shuffles a bit and a head pops up, only one eye opening to greet his visiter.

“Harry? What’s the matter?” 

Harry walks over to the bed, stopping right at the edge on the left, looking down at the boy as Louis struggles through the fuzz of sleep, his mind still flirting with the edge of unconscious.

“Louis, do you ever think of sleep?” Harry asks, lifting one knee to rest on the edge of the bed, only about a hand’s width away from Harry’s abdomen. 

“Louis opens his second eye, “sometimes,” he admits, “when I’m really tired and I wish I was asleep. I guess that might count. Why?” Louis shuffles a bit so he’s mostly on his back, his head resting again on the pillow as he tries to focus on the stranger standing beside him.

“I just, I was wondering why we do it; sleep.” Harry says, his voice sounding thunderous in the quiet apartment, loud and deep amongst the silence.

“We sleep because we have to don’t we?” Louis laughs, but it’s almost silent in contrast to Harry’s voice, tiredness still muddling Louis’s brain. 

Harry leans forward, “but why were humans created to sleep? Isn’t it odd?” Harry moves forward so his second knee is also up on the bed, close enough to Louis that it’s almost as if he’s hovering over him, as if he just laid down he would be right on top of him, touching. 

“Well I never think about that,” Louis smiles, and he almost looks intoxicated the way his cheeks bunch up and the wrinkles around his eyes become so obvious, “that’s just how it is, no use questioning it is there?”

“But why don’t you think about it?” Harry persists, his eyes going wide and Louis can’t see much at the moment, due to both the darkness and the fact that he doesn’t have his glasses on, but even in the haze Louis can tell Harry is frantic, “why doesn’t anyone ever think about it? Humans could have been made to do anything, why were they made to have to spend eight hours of their day completely still and silent, when the other sixteen hours humans are rushing around, practically never stopping?”

“Maybe sleep was made to give us a break.” Louis says, shutting his eyes as he yawns and moves a bit, trying to chase the frays of sleep.

“Wait,” Harry lifts one hand and presses it against Louis’s chest, shaking him a bit, “wait, but...that still doesn’t explain why humans have to do it, I mean couldn’t they have just given you the want to slow down instead of forcing you to be unconscious for long periods of time?”

Louis opens his eyes again, “who’re ‘they’?”

“What?” Harry furrows his eyebrows, starting to get frustrated.

“You said ‘couldn’t they have given us the want,’ I asked you who are they?”

“Oh,” Harry sits back up again, putting his legs under himself so he’s sitting back on his calves, “well, I don’t know. That’s not my area, I’ve never thought to wonder.”

“What’s your area then?” Louis says through a yawn, and Harry isn’t sure if Louis really cares about this conversation or is just participating to humour him (but either way Harry is thankful). 

Harry thinks for a moment before answering.

“Death.”

“Death?” Louis repeats, finally looking inquisitive, “why death?”

Harry isn’t sure how to answer, because saying I am Death probably wouldn’t go over well, and for some reason talking to Louis is different than talking to Liam. Harry isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t want Louis to know, doesn’t want Louis to look at him or treat him differently (because he would, Harry’s sure of it. If Harry tells him then he doesn’t have a chance) (Harry isn’t sure what his chance is to begin with, but it seems important all the same). 

“Fascination.”

“You’re fascinated with death?” Louis repeats again, and for some reason Harry finds the words to sound so much more sound when they come through Louis’s lips.

“Yes.” Harry agrees, nodding once before looking down at his hands, not quite able to meet Louis’s eyes, not sure why.

“Well then,” Louis continues after a moment, moving a bit to get more comfortable now that he knows he won’t be able to go back to sleep for some time, “maybe sleep is just practice for death.”

“Why would one need to practice for Death?” Harry asks, wondering why humans would need to put so much time into just meeting him, following him Beyond. 

“Well, if death is forever, we probably need to be in a state of nothing for a while, so when we suddenly die the eternal darkness won’t be a shock.” Louis says, smiling like he just said something clever even though Harry doesn’t understand. 

“But, what if Death isn’t eternal darkness?” Harry asks once he figures it out, remembering how so many souls, upon Death’s arrival, are so terrified, scared that there isn’t any new adventure to behold. 

“Oh,” Louis laughs, “so you believe in a heaven then?”

“Not...not like what you’re thinking about,” Harry says after a moment, his voice finally growing softer, more at home amongst the darkness. And Harry isn’t quite sure what to say, because he can’t reveal anything too detailed, about what is to come later, but he finds it a bit sad (sad; a tightness in his chest, a stillness in his breath) that Louis can’t look forward to a new adventure once he’s finished with the one he’s on.

“But maybe, after might be a bit more exciting?” Harry finally settles on, looking at Louis in a way that feels like his eyes might be pleading.

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Louis says, yawning again and turning on his side, the need to fall back to sleep growing too heavy, and suddenly Harry feels it too, the weight on his eyes and to cool touch pushing him down. 

“Can I stay here?” Harry asks, not waiting for an answer as he lays down on his side, the two boys facing each other and close enough that the hair on their arms are nearly touching. Louis hums in reply but otherwise remains silent.

“Harry?” Harry makes a breathy sound to show that he’s listening.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your question.” Louis whispers, and Harry parts his eyes a bit, able to just make out the lines on Louis’s face through the darkness.

“What question?”  
“I’m not sure,” Louis says, “but I don’t feel like I answered it.”

“Oh, well that’s quite alright.” Harry mumbles, and they fall back into silence, waiting for sleep to take them back.

“Oh, and Harry? Why were you thinking about sleep?”

Harry can feel himself start to drift away as he says, “I’m just not used to it I guess.”

 

* * *

 

“What are you eating?” Harry asks, watching as Louis spreads something kind of yellowy-brown on a piece of toast (toast, that’s what you make when you use a toaster). 

“Peanut butter.” Louis replies, licking a bit of the substance off his pinky finger (and there it is again, that tightness in his stomach, a pressing in his core, like someone’s squeezing him a bit too hard. It’s odd, Death thinks, how he only feels that way when he’s with Louis).

“What’s that?” Harry asks and Louis widens his eyes, his eyebrows disappearing under his fringe in a way that makes something bubble up in Harry’s throat, like happiness (happiness; content feeling, warmth, soft hands, smile).

“Don’t tell me, you’ve never had peanut butter before?” Louis looks shocked, but Harry just shakes his head and he can feel something heat up in his cheeks, and when he lifts one hand his skin feels warm to the touch (odd).

“Well then,” Louis smiles, one hand reaching into a drawer to pull out a spoon (note; don’t put a spoon into a working toaster), brandishing it like a sword, “we’ll just have to change that.” Louis dips the spoon into the jar and scoops up some before handing it to Harry. 

“What do I do with it?” Harry asks after a moment where Louis is just staring at him expectantly, and Louis rolls his eyes before gesturing wildly with his hands.

“What do you mean? You eat it!”  
Harry nods for a moment, eyeing the spoon, before slipping it in his mouth, sucking on the sweet taste. Louis can’t help but giggle at the sight, watching Harry make a face like he ate something sour before widening his eyes, wiggling his eyebrows and puffing out his cheeks (and Louis thinks this might be one of the silliest things he’s ever seen in his life).  
“So? Do you like it?” Louis asks, his eyes giving away the fact that he’s wholeheartedly amused. Harry takes the spoon out of his mouth but doesn’t say anything else, just licking at the stickiness still clinging to the roof of his mouth, waiting until it’s all gone before saying anything.  
“I very much enjoyed that.” Harry states, staring at the spoon and wondering where it all went.  
“Well good, I’m glad.” Louis nods, the wrinkles around his eyes showing as he smiles at Harry (and Harry’s beginning to love those wrinkles).  
“I very much enjoy you, Louis.” Harry says a moment later as Louis takes a bite of his sandwich, so Louis can only make a rather odd strangled sound but Harry can tell it’s meant to be in agreement.  
After work that day Harry can’t help but feel content (happy, he feels happy) as the five of them leave the mall together, all back in their street clothes. Liam’s grumbling about the kid who threw up all over his lap this afternoon (and in consequence, Louis and Niall and Zayn are all laughing about it) and the air is chilly, the snow sticking to the ground around them in dirty clumps and every time a taxi drives by the brown slosh at the side of the roads are sprayed up, but Harry can’t help but think about how the world has never looked so beautiful, in all the time he’s been in existence.  
“So, food?” Zayn suggests, throwing an arm around Liam from where they’re walking a bit slower, a few steps behind the other three. Niall seconds the motion in about a second, and Louis doesn’t even have to think about it to agree.  
“I vote Indian.” Louis suggests, but Liam’s groaning even before the words leave his mouth.  
“I hate spicy food.” Liam pouts.  
Louis rolls his eyes, even though Liam can’t see them, “you’re always able to find something to eat when we go there.”  
“You just like going there because you can flirt with the waiter.” Liam throws back, and Zayn’s giggling next to him.  
“What’s flirting?” Harry asks, looking over to Niall with a puzzled expression (because even though he doesn’t know what it is, he doesn’t really like the sound of it, or the fact that Louis’s doing it with a waiter). Niall giggles next to him, finding Harry’s ignorance amusing, but before anyone else can say anything Louis’s letting out a tiny yelp and tripping over himself, slipping on a piece of ice and falling on the sidewalk, landing in a crumpled heap as his head bangs against the concrete.  
“Louis!” Zayn’s the first to move, swinging around to the front of his friend to see if he’s bleeding. Once he notices the snow is beginning to stain pink he pulls off his jacket, pressing it against the side of Louis’s head that hit the ground.  
“‘M fine, Zayn,” Louis mummbles, trying to sit up even though a pair of hands are pushing him back down, “just bumped by head.”  
“It’s bleeding everywhere, mate.”  
“Yeah,” Niall agrees, staring at the stained snow as all the colour drains from his face, “and you fell pretty hard, you might have a concussion or something.”  
“I’ll call an ambulance.” Liam says, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone, but Louis’s hand is flying out to hit him on the wrist, telling him no.  
“Can’t afford it, ambulance.” Louis says, but even a stranger could tell that his voice is slurring.

“Why don’t we just get a taxi and we’ll take you to the A&E ourselves then?” Zayn suggests, obviously not wanting to fight with Louis at the moment. Louis gives a hum as a reply, but everyone takes it as an affirmative and before Harry knows it Liam’s calling a cab, walking up and down the sidewalk as if it’ll come quicker. Harry also notices, in that moment, that he hadn’t moved at all since Louis fell, and he’s not sure what that means.

The A&E is packed when they arrive, all five boys squeezing through the automatic doors to get out of the chill. Zayn walks Louis up to the counter and the other three find a seat amongst the crowd, Niall and Liam finally deciding to sit in between a teen with a knife wound in the shoulder and an elderly man asleep against the wall, and Harry stands in front of them, not wanting to sit. Just then the automatic doors open again, and a young woman enters, pushing another elderly women in front of her in a wheelchair. 

The woman leaves her mother in the middle of the small resting room, walking up to the counter to talk to the nurse, and as she leaves the mother starts to moan something, call out something in a strong Irish accent. It takes a while for Harry to notice that she’s staring at him, pointing at him, but it becomes more obvious the longer it lasts, the louder she gets. People sitting around are starting to stare, and Liam is shaking with worry.

“Harry, what are you doing? Stop it, you’re scaring everyone.” Liam leans forward, whispering loud enough for only Harry to hear, but he ignores his guide, instead placing all of his attention on the woman.

“It’s time, it’s come it’s time, I’m not ready,” she’s repeating, chanting like a mantra, her words slurring together both due to her heavy accent and the weight age puts on coherency, but Harry can understand (for he’s Death, he hears everything).

“It’s not your time yet, sister, there’s nothing to fear yet.” Harry answers, ignoring the stares from around the room and Niall’s confused cough and the defeated way that Liam slumps forward in his seat, placing his head in his hands.

“But it’s here, it’s here, you lie,” she cries, her knuckles turning white as she grips the edges of her chair like a vice, and Harry starts to move forward, ignoring Liam as he calls out his name.

“No, I don’t lie,” Harry tells her once he’s standing in front of her, kneeling before her like an offering and placing his palms on her frail knees, “I’m not here for you, there is nothing for you to be frightened of.” 

“Why you here, then?” She asks, still shaking in her seat but her voice considerably quieter.

“I’m on holiday.” Harry says, smiling in a way he tries to make comforting but just ends up being eerie, the skin stretched a bit too taut along his face and his lips far too wide. 

“But,” she asks, her hands shaking as she lifts one, grabbing the front of his jumper and crumpling it in her fist, “you are not here for me?”

“No.” Harry agrees, shaking his head, and he’s a little surprised when she looks disappointed.

“Then can you make it go away?” she asks.

“Make what go away?”

“The pain.” she says, her face completely serious and Harry doesn’t know what to say.

“That’s not my area, ma’am. I can’t do that.” She shakes her head.

“It’s like a stab, and it’s not bearable like before. It’s a knife forced through my lungs, I don’t want it anymore. I changed my mind, take me.” She pulls his shirt with more force than he thought she has, but Harry’s just shaking his head.

“I can’t take anyone before they’re ready, and you’re not ready yet.” He tells her, but she is still shaking her head.

“I can’t take it anymore, I don’t want it, I’m ready. I thought death would be different, but it’s not scary, is it?” Her eyes widen, pleading with Death.

“No, it’s not.” He promises her, but then he’s slowly untangling her fingers from his shirt.

“But, but I don’t want this anymore, the pain... take it away.” She pleads, trying to resist as he sets her hand back in her lap, her eyes watching him as Death stands back up.

“It’s not your time yet, I can’t help. You’re daughter is coming for you now.” He nods to her before turning around to walk back to Liam, wondering as she calls out for him if he always was without sympathy, or if it just came with the time.

 

* * *

 

Louis ended up getting four stitches in the side of his head, but he still holds to the belief that he’s fine, and for fuck’s sake if one more person fusses over him he’s going to burst. 

“Liam, get out of this flat.” Louis demands after a night of Liam getting him glass after glass of tea, or asking him if he wants a pillow, or wondering if he wants him to turn the channel for him, or if he should turn the heater up or oh dear are you too warm?  
“What, no!” Liam answers, looking at Louis like he’s scandalized, “I’m not going to leave you, you just got out of the hospital...”

“And if you don’t leave now I’m going to put you in the hospital.” Louis interrupts and Harry’s laughing, because that was quick.

“But I...”

“Go visit Zayn or something, just for the love of all that is good leave me alone.” Louis says, kicking off the blanket Liam had been fussing over and standing up to stretch.

“The doctor said for you not to...” Liam starts, but trails off when Louis sends him a glare that could send anyone to hell, so instead he too is standing up.

“Alright then, I’m going to go visit Zayn. Harry, you coming?”

Harry considers for a second, “no, I don’t think so.”

Liam shoots him a pointed look that is all but lost on him, “I think you should come with me.”

“No, it’s okay. Is it okay Louis?” Harry asks, ignoring the way Liam is glaring at him because no matter how odd Liam may be, he doesn’t exactly want his best friend alone in the loft with Death.

“Yeah, Harry can stay, he not making me want to jump off a building like you are.” Louis calls as he shuffles into the kitchen, and with one last defeated glance Liam leaves, trying to mentally tell Harry not to do anything stupid. 

Harry follows Louis into the kitchen a moment later.

“What’s up?” Harry asks (remembering that phrase is one commonly used to ask what someone is doing; alternatives be “Hows it going,” or “Hows it hanging,” or Harry’s personal favorite, “What’s shaking?”). He looks at Louis as he stands in the middle of the kitchen staring at the wall. When he hears Harry’s voice he looks up, turning to look at Harry, a mischievous smile forming on his lips.

“You know what I want to do Harry?” Louis asks, and Harry shakes his head in answer, “I want to make some Christmas cookies.” Harry doesn't know what those are, but he nods his head in agreement.

It turns out Louis doesn’t have the faintest idea how to make Christmas cookies. 

“I watch Niall make them every year, I swear I did them right.” Louis says, staring down at the cookie sheet in dismay. The kitchen is covered in flour (thanks to Harry dropping the bag of flour and Louis deciding it would be fun to throw the dirtied handfuls up in the air to make it snow) and bowls of dough are scattered around the kitchen because Louis wasn’t sure of the recipe, so he decided they should try it three different ways.

“You would think one of these batches would turn out right.” Harry agrees, looking over Louis’s shoulder at the many pans, feeling a pang of sorrow for those ugly little cookies, for the black trees and the lopsided stars and the excuses for little reindeers. Louis isn’t exactly the best at cutting out cookies to begin with, and Harry isn’t even sure how to use the cookie cutter even when Louis spent a good twenty minutes showing him how, so they were already pretty ugly, but then the first batch got burnt, and the second one didn’t rise so they look like terrible little crackers, and the third batch looked fairly alright, but after tasting them both Harry and Louis can attest that no, the third batch did not turn out.

“We can try again?” Harry suggests, but Louis is shaking his head and dumping the last contents of the tray into the trash can.

“We’re out of flour.” Louis reminds him, and Harry starts to giggle because they’re not really out of flour, the kitchen is covered in flour. Harry proves this by running his pointer finger over the counter and tapping Louis’s nose, making Louis smile and crinkle his nose and Harry feels it again, that tightness in his chest, and he wants to tell Louis how he makes him feel, how this has never happened before.

“We can have some peanut butter?” Harry suggests instead, because peanut butter makes everything better. Louis takes a minute to pretend to consider, but he gives away his decision through his smile and Harry can’t help but smiles back, already reaching behind him for the jar. Louis brandishes two spoons and they make themselves home sitting side by side on the messy countertop, their shoulders tightly pressed together as they dig in, each boy smiling as they suck on their peanut butter covered spoon. 

“Liam’s going to be pretty upset.” Harry notices, looking around the room and taking in the giant mess. 

“We can just go to bed before he gets home.” Louis suggests, and Harry laughes as he sucks a little more on the peanut butter.

“Hey Louis, do you ever think about Death?” Harry asks, but he regrets it a moment later because now doesn’t really seem like the appropriate time. 

Louis hums around his spoon, “I used to, a lot actually.” There’s silence for a moment until Louis realizes that Harry is waiting for him to go on, “well, my family died in a car crash when I was younger, and I was in the car too. I used to feel like I should have died that day...” 

“Lou...”

“Not like, in the regretful way,” Louis reasons, “not like, thinking I should have died instead of them. Although sometimes I would think that. But it’s just, sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t be here, and it’s the strangest feeling in the world, you know?” Harry nods, but he can feel something in his chest pounding, tightening because of course Louis would feel like that, Harry messed up, but at the same time Harry’s glad, in his own little selfish way, because if Harry hadn’t gotten scared (terror) he never would have (truly) met Louis, he would have just been another soul. And it’s odd, this feeling, Harry wishes he could describe it (just as he wishes he can describe the way he felt on that day, back when he should have taken Louis with him). 

“Harry?” Louis asks, and Harry shakes his head as if to wake himself up and he looks over, wide eyed.

“Yeah?”

“I still can’t figure you out.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry says, because he’s not really sure what to say at the moment, but then Louis’s furrowing his eyebrows and looking adorably confused and Harry’s wanting to do something, but he’s not sure what.

“Harry, can I do something, and do you promise not to freak out?” Louis asks, swinging his feet where they dangle over the edge of the counter and Harry nods, his face serious and a bit confused, but he doesn’t say anything, trusting Louis completely.

Louis stays still for a moment, watching Harry watch him, but then he starts to move in slowly, achingly slow and Harry wants him to hurry up and do whatever he’s doing, because the suspense is frightening. Louis halts a breath away so the tips of their noses are touching, and Harry only has a moment to notice that the flour he put on Louis’s nose is still there before he’s leaning in, and their lips are touching.

They stay like that for a moment, their lips lightly pressed against each other, Harry’s eyes completely open and Louis’s almost entirely closed. Then Louis moves a bit, tilting his head to the side a bit so they can move a bit closer and Harry is reaching out to hold Louis’s waist because he’s suddenly terrified he’ll fall again. Louis parts his lips and sucks Harry’s bottom lip between his own, biting down just a bit and Harry’s feeling the fluttering in his stomach again, this time so much more obvious than before, and he welcomes it with open arms as he pulls Louis in closer until they’re pressed against each other, sitting up on the counter. 

Harry still has no idea what to do, letting Louis press their lips together, but he still lets out an involuntary groan as Louis pulls back, meeting their eyes and looking almost worried.

“What was that?” Harry asks, lifting one hand from Louis’s waist to press against his own lips, still feeling the weight of Louis’s against his own and he wants to do it again.

“I’m sorry, you probably don’t even...I mean,”

“No,” Harry says, reaching one hand out to brush some flour out of Louis’s hair, “I mean what was that called?”

“A kiss?” Louis asks, and Harry’s nodding, smiling the same wide smile that put so many on edge (but Louis loves that smile, loves it more than he understands).

“Yeah, a kiss,” Harry agrees, moving a bit closer to press his nose against Louis’s, listening for the wind-chime giggle Louis will surely make, “I really like kissing you.”

“I really like kissing you too, Harry.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you think they have any peanut butter here?” Harry asks, glancing around the food court. Niall laughs but is otherwise of no help, so it’s up to Zayn to answer his totally valid question.

“Probably not mate.”  
“Why peanut butter?” Liam asks, looking confused as Harry slouches down in his seat.

“Harry likes peanut butter.” Liam explains, and Liam wants to say that he likes tuna quite a bit, but that doesn’t mean he eats it for every meal, but instead he just nods and wonders how this is his life.

“So, Christmas is next week,” Niall starts, looking at each boy in turn with a giant smile, “so I’m having a party at mine, and you’re all coming.”  
“I don’t even celebrate Christmas though,” Zayn says, and Niall just shrugs.

“You celebrate parties though, don’t you?” Zayn has to agree.

“So after work do you want to go out for drinks or something?” Niall asks, and Liam and Zayn agree in an instant, and Harry’s right about to say yes to when Louis shakes his head.

“You know, I’m just not feeling it today, I think I’ll pass.” Louis says, pulling at his napkin, ripping it to shreds despite Niall’s glares (glares filled with anger and pain, because Niall can’t stand the sound of ripping paper and Louis knows that, damn it!).

“What?” Zayn gasps, looking scandalized and throwing a hand up to cover his mouth, “since when have you turned down a chance to get pissed?”

“Ha.” Louis deadpans, making a final rip on the napkin before rolling it in a ball, “funny.” Louis reaches across the table to grab Liam’s unused napkin, but Niall’s hand is flying out faster and slamming on top of Louis’s. 

“Mate, if you do that one more time, I swear I will murder you and hide the body.”

Harry laughs, for always loves murder jokes.

Harry ends up going back to the loft with Louis, despite Liam’s obvious discontent with his best friend unknowingly spending so much time with Death (and Harry gets it now, why Louis’s always messing with Liam...it’s because it’s just so easy). They arrive at the flat a little after dark, right when the snow starts to fall again and the wind is knocking the windows, rattling the glass and playing a little tune. 

“So curly, what’d you want to do?” Louis asks after hanging his coat up, shaking his flop of damp hair like Harry saw a dog do before, spraying water all around. 

“I thought you said you were tired?” Harry asks, biting his bottom lip (and he doesn’t notice the way Louis watches him do so, staring at Harry’s bottom lip like it’s a rare form of drug). 

“Change my mind,” Louis shrugs, tearing his eyes away from Harry’s lips to go ruffle through the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you can do that,” Harry wonders, trailing after Louis through the flat, “I thought such feelings were involuntary.”

Louis opens the liquor cabinet with a theatrical flourish, “darling, I’m Louis.” he says without turning around, scanning the cabinet contents and tapping his chin, like he’s about to make a decision to end all decisions. Harry frowns, not seeing the connection between Louis being Louis and the ability to make yourself not be tired. 

“We can have whisky and coke?” Louis suggests at last, turning to Harry and at first Harry is sure Louis’s just asking an innocent question (but the twinkle in his eye suggests otherwise). Harry nods, because hell if he knows what Louis’s talking about, but he probably gave the right answer because Louis’s smiling and humming a tuneless song as he grabs a few bottles and two glasses, leading Harry to the living room.

“Why do you always sit on the floor?” Harry asks, because he’s always (and by always he means the two weeks he’s been on holiday) wondered why Louis would chose to spread out on the carpet when there is a perfectly wonderful couch just inches away.

“I’m not allowed to sit on the couch, pending Liam’s decision,” Louis shugs, setting up the bottles in height order and grinning to himself as he mixes them, “apparently I abused the couch’s purpose, so I have to learn to appreciate it.”

Harry smiles.

“Here ya go, mate.” Louis sings, passing Harry a glass and picking up his own, clinking them together in a song before downing his in one drink. Harry takes his time, smelling it first (because the last time he just dug into something was quite a terrible experience, and he will never trust Liam again...anyone who says tuna is good is a liar). He swirls the contents around a moment longer, but then quickly following Louis’s lead and drinking it all in one go.

“Oh fuck!” Harry yells (borrowing one of Louis’s favorite expressions to use when he’s annoyed, or angry, or excited) and spits out the brown liquid, dribbling it down his shirt front and onto the carpet. Louis’s laughing pretty hard at this point, and Harry’s pretty sure he’s perfected his glare (kudos to Liam for the demonstrations).

“Oh dear, Liam wasn’t lying when he said you don’t drink, was he?” Louis chuckles, wiping a bit of the whisky still hanging to Harry’s chin. 

“That’s disgusting,” Harry answers, looking at Louis as if he’s insane, “how can you drink something like that, it burns!”

“I like the feeling that comes after.” Louis admits, smiling at Harry like he’s a rather adorable kitten, “here, I think you’ll like this one a lot better.” Louis hands Harry a brown bottle (beer, according to the label) and Harry’s wary, but this is Louis and to be honest he would do anything Louis tells him to do. Beer turns out to not be as bad (sure it’s pretty disgusting, but at least it doesn’t feel like someone’s pouring fire down his throat while simultaneously poking his eye out) so he drinks it all at once, doing what he saw Louis do with the glass of whisky. When he’s finished his throat burns and his eyes are watering, and Louis’s watching him in amazement, his eyes a bit glassed over and mouth just a little slack.

“Huh.” Louis says once he blinks a few times, waking himself up from his little stare-fest. 

Harry cocks his head to the side, confused. “What?”

Not long later Harry’s finished another bottle and Louis’s made a considerable dent in the whisky. Harry’s grown even more silent than usual, humming along to the world and swaying a bit so he knocks against Louis’s body every now and then.

“I didn’t think you were such a lightweight.” Louis comments, his eyes dancing as Harry hiccups in an attempt to answer.

“I’m not.” He finally settles on, although he’s not quite sure what a lightweight means. Louis throws an arm around his shoulders in an effort to console Harry’s pout, effectively squishing their bodies together in a way Harry’s certainly not protesting (and that feeling’s coming back, his stomach twisting up but this time it feels a hundred times stronger) (Harry blames the alcohol). 

“Hey Louis.” Harry says after a while of them just sitting there, leaning their backs against the couch and pressed side-by-side against each other, smiling at the wall. Harry keeps on glancing over, watching Louis out of the corner of his eye and the longer they stay there the stronger he feels this pull, right at the center of his chest like his borrowed heart is going to break right out and leave him, give itself over to Louis instead.

“Yeah Haz?”

“I really want to kiss you again.” He admits, his eyes trailing lower to look at Louis’s lips, his eyes going in and out of focus with each passing second.

Louis rolls his eyes and leans in closer, “finally.” He crashes their lips together, lifting his arms to lazily drape around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. They stay like that for a moment, their lips connected but otherwise unmoving, sharing their breaths like they’re sharing their hearts. Harry shifts a bit to wrap his arms around Louis as well, but then he’s overcompensating and tripping over himself, falling onto Louis with no coordination so that they’re both hitting the ground, Harry only just able to catch himself from dropping all of his weight on the other boy.

“It’s hard to find someone who could get this drunk off two beers.” Louis giggles, reaching one hand up to play with the ends of Harry’s curls.

“I’m not drunk,” Harry frowns, not knowing what it means but still, he feels he should deny it, “you are.”

“Okay.” Louis smiles, obviously just humoring him, but Harry takes it as a win and bends down to connect their lips again. It’s a bit messier this time, Louis parting his lips and pressing his tongue against Harry’s, and it’s odd Harry decides, when he parts his own lips after Louis’s prompting, but not entirely unpleasant.

“You’re shirt’s wet from the whisky.” Louis says against Harry’s chin, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, like he’s scared it’ll fade away any moment.

“You should take it off then.” Harry suggests, and he’s not sure why Louis’s laughing but he doesn’t think about it too much, because then Louis’s flipping them over so he’s on top, and he’s pulling the shirt up, pushing until it’s the hem of it is pressed under Harry’s armpits and kissing his abdomen, nipping along his flesh in a intricate pattern, leaving his own signature on Harry’s stomach. Harry isn’t sure what to do, not knowing if he should move or talk or touch or even fucking sing, so he’s lifting his hands, running them through Louis’s limp hair, feeling each individual strand run along his fingers and he feels Louis hum against his skin.

“You’re hard.” Louis muses, trailing one hand down to press against his crotch, squeezing just enough to make him arch into the touch.

“What?” Harry breaths out, biting his lower lip to keep in any other noise pressing for release.

“You’re quite odd, Harry Styles.” Louis says after a moment, lifting his head to look Harry in the eye.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes, feeling the foreign heat rise in his cheeks again, but Louis’s just giggling against his chest now, nipping lightly at his collarbone.

“Don’t apologize, I quite like it.” Louis trails down again, reaching right above the tip of Harry’s jeans and kissing the light trail of hair that disappears into his (Liam’s) boxers. Louis’s hand is still a soft weight on Harry’s bulge, a soft insistent reminder of the ache there, and Harry may be a bit lost, but he knows he needs something.

“Have you ever done this before?” Louis asks him, his lips moving against the skin below Harry’s naval.

“Done what?”

Louis laughs, a soft (beautiful) ring, “I guess that’s my answer.” Louis’s hands reach out to Harry’s belt, tugging on it a moment before looking back up, finding Harry’s eyes.

“Can I?” Louis asks and Harry agrees, although he’s not quite sure what he’s agreeing to.

Louis’s hands play with his belt a bit longer before pulling it undone in an instant, unbuckling it with skilled fingers and a smile. He traces the skin above Harry’s pants again, sending bolts of fine electricity up Harry’s skin, and then his hands are moving down again, playing with the zipper of Harry’s jeans.

Harry lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding when Louis tugs the pants down so they’re just below Harry’s bum, so that his cock feels much less constricted, only his boxers denying it freedom.

“Is this okay?” Louis asks, his hands hovering just over Harry’s skin, his heat radiating off him and warming Harry from the inside out, like the sun gives life to a flower (Harry wouldn’t mind being a flower, if Louis was the sun).

“Yeah, yeah go on, keep...” Harry starts, not sure what he’s telling Louis to do except that he needs it, his words cutting off into a breathy moan as Louis’s hands reach down again, holding him, pressing him down just enough that Harry has to release another inhuman sound just so he has something to remind himself that this is real. Louis lowers his head this time, and Harry is ready for another kiss along his stomach, another bite on his chest, but this time Louis kisses Harry through the fabric of his boxers, lightly mouthing his head. Harry doesn’t even care that he’s making those sounds, those breathy moans anymore, doesn’t even know if it’s him making them, just knowing that he never (ever) wants it to stop. 

Louis’s widening his lips now, letting the heat from his mouth warm Harry down there and leaving him aching, wanting (needing) more. Harry’s pants are wet now in the fabric around his cock, Louis tongue reaching out with each kiss to press against Harry and he can’t hold it (can’t take it) much longer.

“Please, please Lou...” Harry begs, and he’s not sure what he’s begging for except that he needs it (Louis’s mouth, or at least his hand, anything). Louis’s smiling, smirking against the thin fabric of the boxers and he gives the head of Harry’s cock one more kiss before lifting up a bit, straddling Harry’s thighs so he can pull the boxers down until Harry’s free, the air lightly caressing him until he’s growing even harder, his cock curving up towards his stomach, screaming for attention. 

Louis’s smiling now, all teeth and laugh lines and fire in his eyes, and he reaches down with one hand to tease Harry at his upper thighs, his fingers lightly trailing his skin until the light dusting of hairs are standing on edge, at attention. He touches Harry everywhere (his chest, his arms, his cheeks, his thighs) except where Harry needs it most.

He now understands what Niall was talking about when he called someone a cock tease.

“Louis...” Harry groans out, his throat sounding hoarse and he would be worried if he had the mind to care. Louis hands him a knowing smile, understanding, and suddenly there’s a hand right where Harry is aching, and it’s perfect.

Harry arches into the touch, another gasp escaping as Louis pulls, an intense rhythm of up down (push pull, breathe, don’t forget to breathe). Louis watches him, an intense curiosity playing on his face, and when Harry starts to bite his lip again Louis smiles, lowing his head until his breaths are hitting Harry’s length, causing more sounds to break from Harry’s lips.

Louis only takes the tip of Harry into his mouth at first, a teasing warmth playing at the head, but Harry will take what he can get, and Louis’s mouth is marvelous, sickeningly wonderful and it takes all his strength not to lift his hips and push in further. Louis releases Harry with a quiet pop and trails his tongue down, licking at the base before coming back up the other side, and Harry can feel something start to unwind in his stomach, the skin tighten around his balls and he can tell that this he’s probably not hanging on as long as he should (but it’s out of his control isn’t it?)

Louis takes the head back into his mouth and pushes further down, his cheeks hollowing and Harry very much wants to put his finger on Louis’s cheek, on his neck to feel his muscles tighten and flex as he takes Harry just a little deeper, rising up until only his lips remain on him before inching down further. Harry can feel the Louis’s throat muscles around his cock flex, can feel the way Louis sucks him so his lips are covering his teeth, and when Louis lifts one hand to wrap around Harry’s base, squeezing for a moment before moving upwards Harry is undone, releasing into Louis’s mouth without so much as a warning, his lips open wide in a silent scream and Louis continues to suck at the tip, catching Harry’s come on his tongue and only swallowing once Harry finishes.

Once Harry’s come down from his high he can see that Louis’s got a hand down his own pants, and with that Harry’s flipping them over once more, giving Louis a peck on the lips as he lowers his hand to join Louis’s, squeezing it under the waistband of his boxers and wrapping a hand around Louis’s length, tangling their fingers together and he strokes Louis to the edge, continuing to pump even when Louis starts to spill over, coating the inside of his boxers and both their hands. 

When he finishes, releasing a heavy breath that somehow ends up being a content sigh, Harry flops to the side, their shoulders pressed together.

Louis starts to laugh after a moment, pressing his face against Harry’s chest to stifle the sound.

“What?” Harry asks, lifting his (heavy) head up a bit to look down at Louis, worried.

“It’s just, Liam would be so proud of me,” Louis giggles, lifting his head and turning it to the side to look up at Harry, “we didn’t fuck on his couch.”

 

* * *

 

The next day the boys are gather at Zayn’s to watch a movie (the title of which Harry didn’t catch, but it’s been going on for almost an hour now and the only thing that’s happened is a bunch of car chases. The whole time. That’s it. One car chase after another.)

They’re all cuddled up on Zayn’s sofa, a device originally meant for three but fitting all five of them plus a bowl of popcorn surprisingly comfortably (they did have to squish together, and Harry did somehow end up sitting half on Louis’s lap and half on Liam’s, but for some reason that made him all the more comfortable).

It’s dark, no lights on except for the moving pictures on the screen, but by that dim light Harry can tell the other boys bar Niall have fallen asleep, Zayn and Liam’s heads resting against each other and Louis’s pressed against Harry’s bicep, each slow inhale and exhale pressing his cheek just a little bit harder into Harry’s arm.

“Hey Niall?” Harry says (finally understanding the concept of whispering, Louis having explained the necessity the night before, when they were huddled in bed together whispering about nothing until the early hours of morning, trying their best not to wake Liam up a few doors down.

“Yeah mate?” Niall whispers back, turning his head to look at the boy sitting on the opposite side of the couch.

Harry tries not to move, doesn’t want to wake anyone else up, “have you ever been in love before?”

“Yeah, yeah once I was,” Niall answers, turning his head to look back at the television, silently reaching over to turn the volume down a bit, “but I screwed it up.”

“How’d you screw it up?” Harry asks, ignoring the little nagging feeling hiding in the back of his brain, yelling at him that it’s not polite to ask such things. Niall doesn’t look back at Harry when he answers, instead looking down, letting his eyes flitter over for a moment to land on Liam’s resting face, looking on with a sense of despondency (and maybe that’s regret, Harry wonders, but he’s not acclimated enough with emotions to tell) before turning back to the car chase playing on the tele.

“I got scared, and ran.”

“But,” Harry continues after a moment, feeling almost desperate the longer the silence stretches, “how did you know? That you were--are in love?”

“It’s a feeling you get,” Niall whispers, almost low enough that Harry has to strain to hear, “sometimes flittering in your stomach, or pounding in your chest. It’s the security you feel when you’re around them, or the warmth that covers you when they smile. Love is having someone who can see the worst in you and forgive it, and finding the best in you that you didn’t even know was there.”

Harry can feel his ears ringing, his palms sweating.

“That’s it?” He asks eventually, staring at the side of Niall’s face hard enough that the other boy can surely feel it.

“That’s it.”

* * *

 

Christmas morning comes a bit too fast, Harry decides as he wakes to light sneaking it’s way through the blinds, reaching his eyes and telling him to wake up. The bed’s cold and when he swings his arm out to the side he can feel that he’s alone, something he’s been used to all of his existence, but in these last few weeks the feeling’s grown foreign (and Harry now knows how much he hates this feeling, this feeling of being alone). He lays there a moment longer, not quite sure whether he’s ready to greet the frigid air yet, when he hears a the ringing sound of breaking glass echo down the halls, retreating from the kitchen.

“Is everyone alright?” Harry asks, his voice almost breathless from sprinting down the hallway towards the noise, stopping in the doorway.

For a moment he’s frozen, staring at the way Louis and Liam are standing, close together but defensive at the same time, their eyes locked in a battle where their looks speak all the words they need. When the realize Harry’s standing there Liam jumps back, almost tripping over his feet in a haste to move away.

“Oh, shoot, I made a mess.” Liam muses after a moment, absentmindedly glancing down at the glass bowl he dropped. All hostility is drained from his face now, replaced instead with defeat (and he looks a bit sick, Harry notices, and he wonders if he’s going to throw up. He hopes not, he doesn’t really like the smell, not since the morning after Harry and Louis first drank together, where he woke up with his head in the toilet and a stench burning his nostrils).

Louis just stands there and watches as Liam sweeps up the broken glass and dumps it into the trash, his eyes trailing behind him as Liam shuffles around the room, his lips parted and moving but no sound coming out.

“We should probably get ready,” Louis suggests after another moment, looking for the first time this morning over at Harry, his eyes twinkling, “we promised the other two hoodlums that we would help them set up for the party.”

“What’s a hoodlum?” Harry wonders out loud, and Louis just laughs and pats him on the back on his way to his room.

“Come on,” Liam says after a moment, motioning at Harry to follow him to his own room, “you can shower and then wear something of mine.”

Harry slips into the bathroom a few minutes later, and the whole time he’s under the spray he feels a tightness in his chest, but this time it’s different. This tightness isn’t nice like whenever he’s with Louis, tugging at his heart with incessant fingers. This tightness hurts, a pain that won’t go away and it’s reminding him that this is the end (the end, the end).

He can feel something leaking at the corners of his eyes, but he lets them, ducking his head down as he lets his tears tangle with the water raining down on him from the showerhead. 

Back in the bedroom Liam’s already pulled out a pair of jeans and a jumper, and Harry already knows the trousers will be a bit too short and the jumper a bit too loose, but it’s become comfortable over the weeks, and he’s not sure how he’s going to be able to go back to before (before he took this foreign body, before he felt all this).

“So, Harry, I’ve been meaning to ask you, when you’re on holiday and all that magic stuff...”

“Not magic.”

“Whatever,” Liam waves his hand, as if he could physically wave off the words, “now that you’re on holiday, are people just not dying?” Harry turns to him, looking up from where he’s tying his shoe.

“Liam, I’m not human, no matter what I look like right now. Unlike you humans I can multi-task. Dying is a part of life, it can’t just stop because Death decided to take a break.” Liam nods like he understands but really it’s impossible for him to fathom (impossible for any human to fathom really). 

“Okay, just asking.” Liam says, pulling on his own shoes.

“So this party, will there be a lot of people there?” Harry asks, trying to ferret out Liam’s displeasure by making small talk (because he can tell, through Liam’s tenseness and the flexing of his jaw, that something’s wrong, that he’s annoyed about something).

“There usually is,” Liam answers, standing up and going to his desk, pulling on his watch (time, Harry shakes his head, such an odd human concept. Why must they keep track of it? Why can’t they just enjoy the breaths instead?) “their loft is usually pretty packed. It’s a party pretty much put on for people who don’t have families, or who can’t visit them for whatever reason. Niall and Zayn usually advertise it around campus at their Uni.”

“You don’t have a family?” Harry asks, his lips pressed together and head cocked in genuine curiosity.  
“You’re Death, aren’t you?” Liam says in answer, giving a self-deprecating laugh in response, “you should know.”

“I have met countless souls, Liam,” Harry says, keeping his voice soft and low like when Louis talks to him in the middle of the night, sharing pointless secrets in the dark where it’s safe, “I don’t remember all of them, they get to be boring after a while.”

“But you remember Louis’s family’s.” Liam says, keeping his voice carefully clear and void of question or emotion.

“I don’t remember his family’s,” Harry reasons, shrugging his shoulders, not understanding Liam’s mood, “just his.” Liam gives a tight nod and turns around again, aggressively shoving at a few papers littering his desk as he looks for something (nothing).

“Liam, are you angry?” Harry asks, jumping backwards so his legs knock against the mattress when Liam turns around, eyes ablaze.

“Angry? Now, why would I be angry?” Liam asks, his lips going thin and his hands balled up in fists, “not only do I find out you’re a complete unsympathetic prick, but I’ve also found out my best friend is in love with Death.”

“And I’m in love with him.” Harry says, keeping his face straight and speaking as if everything he says is a fact.

“No you’re not,” Liam reasons, “you probably don’t even know what love is.”

“I do,” Harry nods, “because I know I’m in love with him.”

Liam rolls his eyes and walks towards the door, “you’ll get over it.”

“Liam.” Death calls after him, causing his guide to freeze in the doorway, “I’m leaving tonight, but I won’t be traveling alone.” Liam doesn’t turn around for a moment, keeping his back to the other, and when he slowly turns around he’s cautious, deliberate about his motions.

“And who do you suppose will be going with you?” He finally says, eyeing Death with both hesitancy and distrust.

“You’re perfectly aware of who.” Death says, smiling in the way he did when he first met Liam weeks ago, out by the couch. Liam doesn’t move for a moment, staring at Death like he’s some foreign object, studying him like he can learn everything he needs to know by the way he stands.

And then Liam’s moving, in the speed of a second, striding towards the other with deliberate steps, his eyes regaining the same composure as before.

“I swear to you, you little prick, if you so much as touch my friend I’ll...”

“You’ll what, Liam?” Death muses, smiling again until the skin on his face grows taunt, his lips wide and revealing a startling amount of teeth, “trust me, no one can outrun Death.”

 

* * *

 

By the time darkness has creeped over the city the party is in full swing, and Liam wasn’t lying when he said it’s usually packed. Niall and Zayn’s place is much larger than Liam’s, so there’s more places for people to disappear to, more corners for strangers to meet up. Zayn set up a stereo and holiday tunes are playing, bouncing against the walls and rattling the windows (and it’s quite nice of Zayn, Harry thinks, because Zayn apparently doesn’t even celebrate Christmas, but it’s Niall’s favorite time of year). There’s a table in the kitchen filled with different kinds of food (“there’s even some peanut butter on crackers,” Niall smiled this afternoon, slapping Harry on the back, “just for you, mate.) (his eyes started to sting, once Niall had disappeared to fluff up the tree a bit more, but Harry just blamed it on the fact that Zayn had been smoking a moment before and left it at that).

Harry takes a moment to be surprised at the amount of people filling the loft, at the numbers that don’t have a family, or are unable to see them on one of the biggest (apparently) holidays of the year. Harry feels the familiar sting in his chest that he was filled with this morning in the shower, and he wonders if that’s how everyone else feels, this sense of loneliness.

He hates this feeling.

“Having fun mate?” Harry doesn’t have to turn around to tell that it’s Zayn (is this what a friend is then? knowing someone just by their voice, by their presence, by the feel of their hand on your arm?)

“It’s a nice party.” Harry answers, feeling Zayn throw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. 

“So I heard you’ll be leaving us today?” Zayn says, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder for a moment.

“Yeah, I’ll miss you guys.”

“I hope you’ll come back, visit us again soon.” Zayn says, and Harry wants to shake his head, wants to tell Zayn that he hopes he won’t ever see him again, but that’s not a possibility, (no one escapes Death).

Harry’s about to say something else, something about what great friends they’ve all been to him, how much he’ll miss them, but then he sees Louis out of the corner of his eye, surrounded by people Harry’s never met. Louis’s moving his hands around theatrically, talking wildly so Harry can just hear the sound of his voice.

“Everyone really likes Louis, don’t they?” Harry wonders, not realizing he said it out loud until he feels Zayn nodding, rubbing his cheek against Harry’s shoulder.

“Whenever Niall gets drunk,” Zayn admits a moment later, “he gets really emotional. He sometimes likes to compare Louis to the sun, and the rest of us mere mortals to the planets,” Zayn leans in closer to Harry, pressing his lips right up to Harry’s ear like he’s about to tell him a state secret, “Louis showers us with light and happiness, and in return we give him our express and eternal devotion.” Zayn starts to giggle, pressing his lips to Harry’s shoulder. “Niall can get a bit dramatic, but the truth is there mate.”

Harry can feel his heart (not his heart, Harry remembers a moment later) sink at that, but he’s not sure why, not sure how Zayn’s words can make him feel...this.

“He’s pulled me out of a few scapes, cheered me up more times than I can count,” Zayn continues a moment later, and suddenly Harry smells the light stench of alcohol on his breath, and Harry’s pretty sure Niall’s not the only one who gets sentimental when drunk, “Liam and Niall got into a bit of a tiff last year, and they probably wouldn’t even be talking to each other if it wasn’t for Louis.”

“I...” Harry starts, not knowing what exactly he wants to say but knowing he needs to say something, but then Louis’s coming over, finally shaking the tail Liam’s been making of himself all night (futile, Death thinks, Liam has such a mundane outlook on life).

He still hopes Liam will forgive him though, one day. 

He is one of the greatest friends Harry’s ever had.

“Hey boys, what’re you talking about?”

“You.” Zayn answers, lazily draping an arm around Louis, and the other boy is giggling, trying to push the dead weight off of him.

“I think you need a drink of water mate, you’re a bit smashed.”

“‘M not,” Zayn mumbled, but then his face is turning an odd shade of green and he’s turning around, wobbling rather swiftly towards the bathroom.

“Niall always overdoes it on the alcohol to eggnog ratio,” Louis muses, watching Zayn fondly as he retreats, “and every year Zayn forgets to go easy on it. Oh, and I’ve got another life lesson for you mate,” Louis turns to Harry and pokes him rather hard in the chest, “never mix your alcohol unless you want to spend the night with your face in the toilet.” Harry grins and nods like it’s helpful (although it’s not, he doesn’t need life lessons, seeing how he doesn’t even have one) (a life, that is).

“So I heard you’ll be leaving tonight.” Louis says, trying to look indifferent even though Harry can tell he’s not.

“Yeah.” Harry answers, not knowing what else to say, (not wanting to know what else to say).

“I’ll--miss you then, mate.” Louis says at last, surveying the party instead of looking at Harry.

“I’ll...” Harry trails off, not knowing what to say (not knowing what to do, not anymore).

“You’re probably not coming back, are you?” Louis asks a moment later, his lips turning down at the sides as he watches the people milling about, mixing in and out, a pulsating crowd making each other feel less alone.

“No, I won’t be.” Harry answers, and when he feels Louis’s hand snake into his he feels his head grow a bit lighter, his cheeks turn a bit warmer. 

“I hope you’ll be happy,” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s hand and his voice is smooth, soft in Harry’s ears, “you do deserve it, happiness.”

Harry disagrees, suddenly. Thinking about all the happiness he’s taken away, all the families he’s broken, all the love he’s stolen. And it’s natural, he knows, it has to happen, his job is a necessity.

Right now is the first time he’s ever wished it wasn’t.

“You’re needed here, aren’t you?” Harry says at last, pulling Louis to the side a bit so the boy has no choice but to look at him.

“I mean, I guess? Where else would I go?” Louis asks, looking confused (and of course he’s confused, Harry thinks, he should be).

“Maybe I was right, back then. You might have been ready, but I don’t think the world was, just yet.” Harry says, and Louis grows even more confused but he’s smiling now, because it’s Harry and he’s worth a smile. 

“Louis, tell me you love me.” Harry says, ducking his head down so their noses are pressed together, their breaths tangling into one.

“Harry...”  
“Please? Do you love me?” Harry repeats, and maybe it’s the desperation in his eyes, or the way Harry’s rubbing circles in Louis’s palms, but Louis nods.

“Yeah, yeah I love you Harry.”

“Thank you,” Harry smiles, gripping Louis’s hand a bit harder, “do you remember the boy at the boy you met at the cafe?”

“That was you, Harry...”

“No, but do you remember the me you met at the cafe?” Harry repeats again, shaking Louis’s hands and he’s feeling that tug in his chest again, and he’s not sure if it’s the good tug or the bad tug this time (he thinks it might be a mix of both).

“Yeah, of course I do,” Louis furrows his eyebrows, frowning, “Harry?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Lou,” Harry starts, but Louis’s frowning even more now.

“But you just said...”

“No,” Harry shakes his head, rubbing his nose against Louis’s and thinking how this is it, all he needs, “I’ll still be here, but I’ll be a bit different? I’ll be more like the Harry you met at the cafe, but I just want to make sure you love this me?”

“Of course, I love you so much Harry, but...” Louis grows quiet and Harry lifts one hand, fitting it around the side of Louis’s neck.

“And you’re wrong,” Harry whispers, like when it’s just those two tangled together at night, breathing together in the dark, “you’re the one who deserves happiness.”

Harry closes the distance between them, pressing their lips together lightly, sweetly like the first time in Louis’s kitchen, smelling the burnt cookie dough and flour covering their bodies, sprinkled in their hair. Louis tastes like strawberry chapstick and cherry vodka, a bit of eggnog sprinkled in (and Harry smiles even harder, because it’s like Louis, not to follow his own life lessons) and there’s a tugging on his borrowed heart again, a pull between them and Harry wonders if Louis holds his string, trailing him along (because it’s true, Harry belongs to Louis, belonged to him long before they ever met, long before Harry failed his job, failed to lead Louis Home, Beyond, where he was meant to go).

His borrowed heart beats a moment longer, singing in the stillness as Louis slowly pulls back, pressing their foreheads together (and he doesn’t feel it anymore, the terror.)

(He wonders if it’s selfish to count the moments until he and Louis find each other again).

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are more than appreciated


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